An African Affair (29 page)

At 6 P.M., Vickie knocked on the door. When no one answered, she walked in and found Lindsay in the living room, packing. Otis Redding blasted on the stereo.

 

 

 

 

Vickie was the last person Lindsay wanted to see. She blamed her even though she knew she was misdirecting her anger.

“What did you forget?” she asked dryly. “Do you want me to shoot him?”

For just a second, before she realized that Lindsay was being sarcastic, Vickie was startled. Then she smiled.

“No. But there is something else we would like you to do.”

“What a surprise. And I thought this was a social call.”

“Come on, Lindsay. I’m just doing what I have to do—like you, actually. I don’t like it either.”

“Yeah. Right. So what did you and the boys forget?”

“We need to get James to Athens instead of Paris.”

“So?”

“So, you’re the only one who can do that.”

Lindsay shook her head. “Look, I’m through, understand? Don’t come to me again. I simply can’t do more,” she said, wrapping another set of ibejis and putting them into the carton. “I’m not trained in your special brand of deception.”

“You mean you’re not as good as James is.”

Lindsay suddenly felt very tired. She sat down on the sofa and closed her eyes briefly. When was this going to end? And then she knew that like all stories, it would end only when it was over and it would be over only when these people had James.

“Why Athens?”

“Because it’s a looser airport. We can operate without being watched. We want to pick this guy up quietly and get him home without a lot of questions and official forms.”

Lindsay had not lost all her reporter’s instincts.

“You mean without resorting to legal means?”

“I just know they want to pick him up in Athens,” Vickie said, shrugging helplessly.

Lindsay smiled in spite of herself. The idea of Vickie helpless was amusing. She didn’t care how they got him to trial, she thought, as long as they did, and she trusted Vickie to make sure that happened. The idea of justice, however painful, was comforting.

“I need to know something, Vickie,” she said. “After you get him, will I have to testify at his trial?”

Vickie didn’t miss a beat.

“No. We have enough evidence against him that we can spare you that. Do this last thing for us and we will never contact you again.”

“How am I supposed to get him to go to Athens?” Lindsay asked wearily.

“Tell him you need a few days of vacation. Tell him you always wanted to see the Parthenon. Tell him you just have to stop there to do an important interview. Tell him anything that works.”

Lindsay sighed.

“Okay. I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. Now listen. When you exit the plane at Athens, he will be picked up by local agents as he goes through customs. They have very few pictures of him, and it’s remarkable how bad they are. I don’t want the local agents to miss him. They have good pictures of you. Take his arm at the customs check. That’s how our guys will be sure they have the right man.”

“Why can’t someone from here be sent to identify him?”

“Too risky. We don’t want him to recognize us and we don’t want to be connected to his arrest. He’ll be brought to the U.S. without formal extradition to save time.”

Lindsay sighed. “I’m not sure I can get him to do this. I just said I’d try.”

“Fine,” Vickie said. “That’s all we’re asking.”

After Vickie left, Lindsay looked around at the mess in her living room and realized that she couldn’t let James see it if she didn’t want him to know she was planning to leave. She started to clean up, putting the boxes in closets, stashing the pile of newspapers inside them. She unwrapped some of the statues, placing them in their old positions.

She decided to dress well—James would definitely notice if she didn’t. He knew she always fussed over her clothes, makeup, and perfume when she prepared for a date with him. Even though she’d already showered, she bathed, shaved her legs, and smoothed almond lotion all over her body. She dried her long hair so that it flowed, silky and shiny, straight down past her shoulders.

She hurriedly put on cream-colored linen slacks and a green silk top that set off her auburn hair. She slipped into sling-back sandals and, taking a quick appraising look at herself, walked into the living room. She thought about what music to put on, and finally settled on Mozart’s
Requiem
. Not cheerful, but appropriate. This wasn’t going to be easy.

James bounded in at 8:10. By that time, Lindsay was calmer. He was carrying red roses that were wilting, like most picked flowers in the heat. She kissed him quickly and walked to the kitchen to put them in a vase. She cut the stems at an angle and added a little sugar to the water, taking longer than necessary to arrange the flowers. Then she carefully placed the vase on a side table and sat down next to him.

“I don’t think you’ve ever brought me flowers before.”

James smiled and switched off the music. Then he came back to the couch and, with a touch of self-mockery, got down on one knee in front of her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever proposed to you before.”

Lindsay froze. Was this a joke? She smiled tentatively.

“Well, that’s certainly true. And you still haven’t.”

“No. But I’m about to.”

She didn’t know how to react.

“Lindsay, my work here is finished. I think yours is too. Isn’t it time for someone else to pick up this story? I’ve got two tickets to Paris. Come with me.”

For just a moment, Lindsay allowed herself a surge of excitement. “I think I missed the will-you-marry-me part.”

He laughed. “Will you marry me?”

“Where, when?”

“Anywhere you want. Anytime you want.”

Lindsay paused. This was her chance. Suddenly she remembered a story she had heard as a little girl in summer camp. It was called “The Monkey’s Paw,” and it was about a man and his wife who were given a monkey’s paw that had the power to grant any wish. But it came with a warning. There were often terrible consequences. The couple ignored the warning and wished for a great deal of money. Two days later, they got word that their beloved son had died. He left behind an insurance policy for the exact sum for which they had wished.

“I always wanted to get married in Greece,” she murmured.

“Greece? Why?”

“I don’t know. I visited there with my family and fell in love with it.” She put her hands in his, flushed with excitement, as if the scene were real. “James, are you really serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Lindsay threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Could we change the tickets? Could we go to Athens instead of Paris and get married there?”

James paused. He seemed, for a moment, slightly uncomfortable. Then he smiled.

“Athens it is,” he said. “You drive a hard bargain.”

So it was settled. It was terrifyingly easy to lie, Lindsay realized. You just had to believe, on some level, that the lie was real. James must have realized this early in life and made use of it. She wondered if something terrible had happened to him to turn him into a criminal or if it was never a clear choice. Maybe he’d gotten lost little by little. But what central moral decency was absent that allowed him to keep doing it? She didn’t understand. And she realized that she would have to accept the likelihood that she never would.

The plane to Athens departed a day after the Paris flight, from the same small airport outside Lagos. Lindsay had alerted Vickie and had been informed that there was a change of plans. Vickie herself would be in Athens to make sure everything went smoothly. They weren’t taking any chances, Lindsay thought, and wondered if Vickie didn’t trust her, or if she didn’t have confidence in her CIA colleagues.

She had assumed the charter was an illegal operation run by the drug cartels, but if true, she wouldn’t have known it from the other passengers waiting to board at the ramshackle airstrip. Many of them worked in Nigeria’s oil fields, fresh-faced young men out to make some money to take back to the States. Others were weary-looking businessmen, mid-level oil executives who flew in to check productivity and then flew out again as fast as they could.

One man just ahead of Lindsay and James in line began chatting as soon as he realized they were Americans.

“Well, it’s good to see a friendly face,” he said. “Dan Ryan’s my name.”

He grabbed James’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. He just nodded at Lindsay.

“I’m really glad to meet you. Do you have any idea when this outfit is going to get started? I’ve already been on line for twenty minutes and as far as I can see, no one is up there taking tickets. ‘Not on seat,’ they say here. Hell, I’ve got to get out of here.”

A Texan businessman who worked for Shell, he was desperate to find an American to whom he could complain. He was a nervous wreck, he said. He had been robbed as soon as he arrived in Lagos and had been given the runaround everywhere he went. He was bitten from head to toe by mosquitoes, couldn’t stand the heat, and vowed never to come back. “Life is too short,” he said, over and over again.

Lindsay noted unsympathetically the profusion of sweat around his temples and above his lip and the stain on his wilting white shirt. She was offended by his assumption that because they were white and American they would share his opinions. James, however, seemed amused. When Dan said he needed sleep more than anything, James pulled a sleeping pill out of his pocket and offered it to him.

“It works for about five hours,” James said. “Just take it after the plane takes off and you’ll be sure to nap.”

After fifteen more minutes, an airline clerk arrived and, as if on signal, the line, which up until then had been orderly, was suddenly thrust into chaos by dozens of people pushing to secure seats on the plane. James plowed his way successfully through the crowd, pulling Lindsay along with him. Dan stuck close behind and all three secured boarding passes. They elbowed their way to the front of the line and finally, sweaty and exhausted, they boarded the plane. Another small victory in survival. In a funny way, Lindsay thought, she’d miss this daily struggle that allowed you to feel proud when you accomplished tasks that were simple in other countries. They waved at their new friend, who sat several rows in front of them.

Lindsay looked around the plane. Did the CIA send an agent to travel with them? Several people looked suspicious, but maybe she was just paranoid. It was even possible that Dan was an agent. After they took their seats, James leaned over and squeezed her hand.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” she answered. “I’m just excited. This is a big day for me. Leaving one life and starting another.”

They settled in for the trip, James reading a book about Leni Riefenstahl’s African photography and Lindsay reading an old
Newsweek
. One flight attendant pulled out the serving cart to offer the passengers coffee and another followed, distributing landing cards. Lindsay put hers in the seat pocket—it would be several hours before it would be needed—but James, with his characteristic orderliness, started to fill his out. His pen ran out of ink and he asked Lindsay for one. Preoccupied with the story she was reading, she told him to look in her bag. He picked it up and rooted around, past a lipstick, a powder brush, a hairbrush, gum, candy, an eyebrow pencil, and two pairs of glasses before he found a Bic ballpoint pen stashed underneath her reporter’s notebook. He pulled out the notebook and began looking through it. Lindsay saw him but wasn’t concerned—she knew she’d given the incriminating pages to Vickie. Suddenly she noticed that the spiral notebook still had thin strips of paper caught in its coil and one page remained. Before she could grab it, he read, “James departure: private charter, Thursday—Lagos – Paris, leaves one P.M. Two tickets in safe.”

He looked surprised at first, then thoughtful. Then his face set in a way that frightened her. He grabbed her arm, so hard it hurt. She thought fast, trying to come up with a story to throw him off the track, but drew a blank.

“Well, now I know,” he said, his voice threatening.

“James, you’re hurting me. What are you talking about?”

He kept his grip on her arm. “I know that you are not what you appear to be. I know that you think you know things about me that make you willing to betray me, even going so far as to pretend you want to marry me. I know that you sneaked into my room and gave my private information to people who want to hurt me. What I don’t know is whether they are waiting for me in Athens, and that’s what you’re going to tell me right now.”

She pulled her arm away. It was bruised where he had been gripping it and she rubbed it as she spoke.

“I am not what I appear to be? You dare to say that to me?”

“Oh, of course, you did everything in the name of justice and the American way. It must be nice to be so self-righteous.”

“It’s not so nice when you’re the one being deceived, is it, James? You usually play the other role, don’t you? Only you don’t just deceive, do you? Deception, that’s just one baby step for you, you must have learned that in your first week at this. It’s nothing compared to planting bombs and killing your old friends or stealing medicine from children.”

She watched his expression change from rage to surprise. He was realizing the breadth of her knowledge of his activities and the depth of her hurt and disgust.

“Listen, Lindsay, you have to let me explain. You know I didn’t do all those things. They have their own reasons for blaming me.”

Lindsay’s eyes filled. Then, collecting herself, she said, “I didn’t believe them at first. But we both know what you did. What I don’t know is why. I thought I knew you. I thought I sensed a strength and decency. I actually believed you were honest, at least with me. And I believed that you loved me. Now, I don’t even know why you asked me to marry you, but I doubt it was because you wanted to be with me for the rest of your life.”